Archives for March 2009

Update 2013: This years-ago post has recently begun attracting a lot of attention on Pinterest, so to those of you who are coming over from a pin, hello! I hope you’ll take some time to look around here and maybe say hi. In the interest of full disclosure, though, I should let you know that in the four years since this post was written, I’ve drastically changed my diet. I tried remaking this cake with einkorn flour and coconut sugar, and it was delicious, but more of a caramel cake than a sugar cookie cake, for what that’s worth.

I’m starting to really, seriously love Twitter. Recently, I put out a request for the absolute best cake recipe, and, within minutes, I had close to 10 (!) responses. There was a flourless chocolate cake, a vegan version, a suggestion of using something by Mark Bittman. But it was @parapluiesdoux who told me about Restaurant Eve’s cake, which she said had been published a few years earlier, and for that, I will always have a special place in my heart for Twitter and, as you can imagine, her.

To describe the flavor of this cake, I must begin with something not cake at all, something comforting in the way only things you ate as a child can be, something that begs to be eaten with a tall glass of ice cold milk, just before you stretch out on the sofa to watch some T.V. What I’m talking about, and this will be obvious the moment you take a bite, is a sugar cookie.

OK, picture that rich, buttery, creamy taste of a sweet sugar cookie, piled high with icing, and then transfer that image to a tall, moist layer cake, slathered with generous dollops of pink buttercream. Do you have it?

That, essentially, is this cake.

Created by Chef Cathal Armstrong, who along with his wife, Meshelle, runs Restaurant’s Eve, the Alexandria, Virginia, restaurant named for their first child, this cake was inspired by Cathal’s aunt and tastes sweet and moist, just the way birthdays should taste, I say. After becoming a favorite at the restaurant—usually dressed up with piping and embellishments for special events—this cake, and its recipe, appeared in a Washington Post article in April 2006. And though it’s taken three years to reach me, the timing is, actually, quite impeccable. For one thing, I’ll be taking a weekend to D.C. next month (and touring the Capitol building, if all goes well—fingers crossed), so learning about an Alexandria restaurant is much more interesting than it would have been in 2006 when I was, every day, going to classes and studying in Chicago, nothing much else.

But also, and more importantly, my coworker Carrie had a birthday Monday, and, of course, we needed to celebrate.

Friday night, I managed to eek out two cupcakes in addition to the cake proper, in order to make sure this tasted all right (it did; in fact, that was when the sugar-cookie description was born) and I boxed up the real cake to bring to Carrie Saturday, when she’d be working.

In retrospect, I may have liked the cupcakes better—mainly because they are smaller portions, easier to enjoy without feeling overwhelmed. After trying a big piece, Carrie suggested making one-layer cakes, rather than two; I found a suggestion online for a version with four layers, in which you’d split the original two, length-wise.

Whatever the case, this is some birthday cake, the one I’ll remember finding on Twitter, originally from the restaurant in Virginia, baking for my friend the traveler, that tasted like cookies and childhood and big parties covered in confetti, while we ate it on a rainy Saturday.

What’s with all the cakes? It could be said, fairly I guess, that I’ve been on something of a cake kick lately, what with the banana cake and the vanilla cupcakes and the make-in-minutes chocolate cake and, now, this. I have no excuses, just a faint comment that, well, I’m almost done for now, really. In the meantime, if you’re looking for some substance, may I recommend my friend Kendra’s chicken souvlaki? It’s fantastic, and since my pictures don’t do it justice, I’ll just tell you, TRY IT. Really.

My favorite part of this recipe is how hard it is to mess up: you’re actually told not to worry about overmixing. Doesn’t that make you excited? Let your mixer do the work, and you reap the benefits.

A word on the frosting: As sweet and delicious as this frosting is, I have decided, I think officially, that I do not prefer buttercream. Next cake, it will be whipped, and that’s a decision I will stand by.

Directions:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease and flour two 9-inch cake pans and line the bottoms with parchment paper.

Melt butter and let it cool to room temperature.

Combine the sugar, flour, baking powder and salt in the large bowl of a stand mixer. (A stand mixer is preferable for this recipe, though a hand-held electric mixer may be used.) On medium speed, add the butter, incorporating in several additions. Beat for about 2 minutes, or until combined; the texture should resemble cornmeal.

In a separate bowl, combine the eggs, vanilla extract and milk. Add to the flour-butter mixture in two batches (scraping the bowl once), and beat on medium speed for 2 minutes, or until smooth.

Distribute the batter evenly between the two prepared pans. Bake for 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. Transfer to a wire rack and cool for 20 minutes. Remove cakes from pans to cool completely. Frost the cake. It can stand at room temperature for 1 hour; otherwise, cover and refrigerate until ready to serve.Frosting Ingredients:
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 pounds (7 1/2 -8 cups) confectioners’ sugar

Directions:
In a stand mixer on medium speed, beat the butter until fluffy. On low speed, add the sugar in batches, increasing the speed to high after each addition is incorporated. Scrape down the bowl as needed. Add the vanilla extract and cream in a steady stream on low speed until incorporated. Add a few drops of food coloring, if desired. (Restaurant Eve uses red to make pink.) Beat on high speed for 8-10 minutes, until light and fluffy.

The summer after my senior year, I hit the jackpot: after years of just babysitting, I got my first job—part-time cashier at a local craft mall for $6.50 an hour. I spent afternoons with a handful of middle-aged women who, aside from always changing my soundtrack choices from Nat King Cole to 1970s bands that I still don’t know names of but shudder when I hear in the grocery store, were very nice to me. They also kept Sunchips in the break room, and that made me like them very much.

The next summer, I worked at camp, and the summer after that when I came back home, the craft mall had gone out of business. A friend was living with us at the time, and she and I stalked job listings daily, which is what led us to a joint interview with a marketing company offering between $15 and $18 per hour, all summer long.

I should stop here and interject: There’s a chocolate cake recipe circling the Internet—maybe you’ve seen it? It promises chocolate cake in mere minutes. All you have to do is mix a couple ingredients in a mug and stick it in the microwave, and voila, just like that, cake! The first time I saw the recipe, on a food blog months ago, I’ll admit I was tempted. But a wiser, seasoned part of me balked. When something seems too good to be true, after all, it probably is. And I remembered that summer job interview.

Essentially, our interviews were an elaborate sales pitch disguised as a test: a massive group of well-dressed college students, assembled into a large room, with a speaker in front, being told we’d be watched during the presentations and, if we were lucky, asked to participate in an opportunity for big money.

When I was taken into a private room and told I qualified, the guy asked me to sign something, pay $200 for my start-up kit and be on my way: get my friends to buy, and I’d make my money, he’d make money, his boss would make money.

It was classic sales: big promises, smart delivery and, if you could see it, small catch.

So when I found a newspaper clipping in my grandma’s files: Cake in 31 minutes! Just six minutes of prep! I laughed out loud. I remembered the sales pitch. I remembered the mugs of chocolate cake on the Internet. And then, because it was Grandma’s, I tried it.

If you’re looking for a rich and fudgy, best-ever chocolate cake, this is not it. If you’re looking for the cake to wow your friends with, well, this isn’t that either. If, however, you’re looking for something fast and easy and, as an added bonus, low in cholesterol? Let’s just say, Have I got a deal for you!

Six-Minute Chocolate Cake
as reprinted in a newspaper, taken from Carol Cutler’s The Six-Minute Souffle and Other Culinary Delights

I’m retyping this recipe exactly as it appeared, which is almost exactly how I made it but with one alteration: I used champagne vinegar instead of regular. I can’t speak for the regular vinegar, obviously, but I can say my version (or the crusty bits I pulled off the top, piece by piece when it came out of the oven) made a nice snack, albeit missing something.

And also, I just offer this one bit of important advice: mix everything together VERY well. If you are so inclined, mix in a separate bowl before pouring into the pan. It will matter.

Morning, and the kitchen is quiet, with sunlight streaming across the sink and onto the wood floors, and I pour coffee, grab my lunch, take my keys from the little basket by the door. There will be 20 minutes at least, between me and the office, along expressways of commuters, and I will look at them, talking on their phones, singing with their radios, glancing at their watches, before I park and walk inside, up stairs to my desk, to begin the work day, to talk with my coworkers and double-check spellings at Merriam-Webster and watch the geese fly past my window and onto the roof.

5:30, and I’m getting in my car, like I’ve done so many times, and I’m stopping by the train station, like I do every day, and I’m walking in my front door, and I’m eating dinner, again. It’s spring here—when did spring come? Weren’t we just talking about fall and winter and how I hated the snow? The light lasts longer now, and the days are warmer, rainy. I take it all, eagerly, greedily, like it will never end.

You know, I’m only 26—I find myself throwing the only in there more and more, the way it’s inserted into excuses from guilty children like, I only skipped one homework assignment or I only said that because the other kids did. But as much as I know we are guaranteed nothing, in terms of time, in terms of living, I also know 26 is, usually, not a lot of life to have lived and, usually, it’s not enough time to warrant strong opinions or heavy reminiscing. But I do: I look at the moments around me—the way the grass looks when it’s wet, shiny with dew and fragrant with summer; how my mom makes me laugh when she does, when her mouth closes and her nose widens and her eyes slant, just slightly, as her body shakes, like her mother’s did; the kindness someone shows you when he carries in your bags, so you don’t have to—and I think, I am living this.

This, right here—the morning coffee and the conversation and the drive home in daylight to a cozy evening with a book and blankets—this is life, and it’s a gift, and I am living this.

Sunday night, for my brother, I made this soup. He helped me remove shells from pistachios, unpopping their hard, tan skins and piling their green and purple bodies into a measuring cup, which reminded me of the biscotti I made, almost three years ago for a wedding, when my dad and I shelled bags of pistachios like clockwork on the sofa, for hours. And I chopped an onion and some celery and a clove of garlic, softening them all with a half a stick of butter in a big pot on the stove, and the smell was intoxicating, like music, buttery and fresh and sweet, the scent of Thanksgiving stuffing or a warm night at my grandma’s house. And we ate it, this creamy nutty soup, he and I, while we laughed about something I don’t remember now, in a way that’s everyday and not at all, and it was good.

I have decided, now that it’s ending, that the redeeming part of winter is, without a doubt, soup. This version is pure creamy, savory comfort, with the taste of pistachios and just a tiny bit of crunch from the crushed nuts you sprinkle on top. It’s hot and soothing. It’s milky and nutty. It’s a nice way to spend an evening, especially with people you care about.

As far as the recipe proper, my biggest suggestion regards the broth. I was out, so I used bouillon cubes to make my own, and, although this worked, it made the results a little saltier than I’d prefer. Next time, I’d use a low-sodium broth from a can and just add salt to taste. Play with it, though. Let me know what works for you.

Directions:
Rub off as much of the pistachio skins as possible, set nuts aside. In a large pan over medium heat, cook the onion, celery and garlic in the butter until onion is very limp but not brown, about 10 minutes, stirring often.

Add sherry, 3/4 cup of the pistachios, broth, rice and parsley. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat, cover and simmer until rice is tender to bite, about 25 minutes. In a blender or food processor (or using a stick blender), whirl soup, a portion at a time, until very smooth, pour through a wire strainer and discard residue. Return soup to pan.

Add cream to soup and stir over medium-low heat until hot, 5 to 7 minutes. Garnish servings with whole chives and sprinkle with the remaining pistachios.

While my shiny stand mixer stirs batter, kneads dough or whips marshmallow fluff, I’m wiping down the counter or grabbing chocolate chips. But up until my last birthday, I had only ever used a hand mixer, which is still my mom’s choice. Which is better?

To answer that question, the folks at Cookware.com offer this buying guide, the first-ever guest post here at Food Loves Writing!
When it comes to cookware sets, there are certain appliances that are more important than others; and for people who bake frequently, a kitchen mixer is one such accessory. When upgrading a to a new mixer, be aware that there are a number of different types out there for every kitchen’s need, so if you are planning on purchasing one, it’s important to get a good idea of how often you will be using it and what exactly you’ll be mixing. So we’re going to help out by providing a quick overview of the type of kitchen mixers that are out there.

Stand Mixers

If you’re planning on baking early and often, this is the type of mixer that will work best for you. Stand mixers come with an internal motor and a large bowl attachment and are capable of mixing large quantities of batter (usually up to 8 quarts), making them ideal for mixing large batches of dough for baking bread, muffins and other goodies. Most stand mixers also come with an array of accessories, including bowls, flat hooks and attachments that can be used for dicing, grinding or even pasta making. These types of mixers are also extremely durable and if used properly can last years, or even decades.

However there are some drawbacks. Stand mixers tend to be large and bulky; some of the larger stands can weigh in excess of 30 lbs. This can make them very difficult to store and move around. They also can be expensive, especially in comparison to hand mixers. But if you describe yourself as someone who likes to bake frequently and in large batches, stand mixers are the way to go.

Hand Mixers

Light, versatile and inexpensive, hand mixers can be a very functional tool for folks who don’t bake in large batches and just want an easy-to-use appliance for egg beating and light mixing. Handheld mixers aren’t as durable as their standing brethren, and aren’t recommended for recipes that require a lot of ingredients. But if you’re the type of person who just bakes cookies once in a while, handheld mixers should be able to suit your needs.

Many kitchen connoisseurs will usually buy both hand and stand mixers, using the stand for large-scale, complicated endeavors and the handheld version for quick and easy creations.

Most mixers out there will come with a range of mixing speeds (varying anywhere from three to six settings). Most will also include the basic accessories, such as dough hooks and whisks. So, once you decide what type is best for you it’s usually then just a matter of picking the right design and color to complement your dinnerware and kitchen scheme!
P.S. – (It’s Shannalee, again.) Since I mentioned chocolate chips above, it got me wanting cookies. You, too? Here’s my favorite recipe for chocolate-chip cookies, if, you know, you’re looking for a way to use your mixer sometime soon.

I’m not going to tell you I miss her. That’s what everyone says. I’m just going to tell you I think about her sometimes, like each year when I smell my first fresh spring lilac, heady with sweetness like the big bushes in her backyard that she’d pick from to make corsages on Mothers’ Day; in summer, when the tomato plants grow big, their leaves overwhelming the wiring around them and huge, red fruits forming on the branches; at night, when I can’t fall asleep, and I watch the shadows from the windows dance across the wall, just the way they did in Grandma’s room, when we slept with the window open, a street light’s beam extending across her ceiling.

I also think about my grandma on days like today, her birthday. If she had lived, she would have been 95. And I think about her, mostly, when I bake.

After her husband died at the age of 50, Grandma was left alone, with one daughter, in a brown brick bungalow with a shaded back porch and a fenced backyard, a few miles from her four siblings and their families but, alone nonetheless.

By the time I was born, she’d grown to like it, living by herself. She held garage sales with some friends, she joined bridge clubs, she had her picture in the paper, smiling in her red silk shirt with white moons on it, for a seniors’ group she belonged to. Mostly, she spent time in the kitchen. She baked cookies for people she loved. She made our Thanksgiving dinners. She catered—big, white wedding cakes studded with frosted flowers and delicate details.

So while I think about her today, it seems fitting to talk about her cake recipe, which I found on a brown-tinted 3 X 5 card in her recipe index, her cursive penmanship unmistakable. In classic form, this card lacked key information—what temperature to set the oven, how long to bake—so part of it is improvised. Also, I’ve been told for weddings, Grandma used a ricotta filling, like that good stuff inside of cannolis. (This was not on the card, either. Improvising, I used a jar of packaged frosting and topped it with crushed pistachios—good, but next time, I will find a ricotta filling instead.)

My favorite memories of Grandma are her stories, the ones she’d tell, laughing, her entire face wrinkling and happy. By the end of her life, to me, she was defined by those stories, and her laughter, how it tilted her head back and made you feel close. I hope the same will be said of me.

Wedding Cake
Adapted from my grandma, Caroline

Taste: I almost forgot to tell you how this tasted! Sweet and dense, with the heaviness of a wedding cake, this was very good, even if my layers turned out a little thick. It was the kind of cake I found myself grabbing slices of, for breakfast, for lunch, for a snack before bed. That could just be me, though.

Size of pans to use: Her instructions said something about a 12-inch layer and a 6-inch layer, which pointed me towards the closest improvisation I could find: a 13 X 9 and an 8 X 8. The batter seems awfully thin when you pour it in the pans, but it truly rises when cooking. Next time, I’d try three 8-inch round pans and see how thin I could make the cakes, to highlight the frosting more.

Filling: Like I said, I used a packaged frosting—something with whipped in the title. Then I crushed pistachios and layered them on top. The possibilities here, though, are really endless. I’d love to hear ideas.

In a large bowl, cream butter and 1 1/2 cup sugar. Separately sift together the sifted caked flour, baking powder and salt, and in a small bowl, combine milk and vanilla. Add the dry and wet mixes alternately to the large bowl, and blend thoroughly.

With an electric mixer on low speed (these are her instructions, but I’ll admit to impatience and using high), beat 2/3 cup egg white until stiff, not dry.

Add gradually to the main mixture in the large bowl a 1/4 cup of sugar, beating constantly until stiff. Fold egg whites into batter.

Measure batter by cupful into well-greased and floured cake pans. (I used one 9 X 13 and one 8 X 8 and then measured them after cooled to make them three same-sized layers.)

Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes, checking towards the end. Cake is done when a toothpick can be inserted in the center and come out clean.

You could say it began a few years ago, at the moment in Internet history when I first clicked on a food blog. That was what led me to celery root after all, or even to hearing about it. Before then, I must’ve walked by it in the produce section a hundred times, unknowing, overlooking its gnarly brown exterior and bulb-like shape for more familiar things like bright orange carrots or leafy green spinach or, really, anything but it.

Yet in another way, you could say it began much earlier, when I was young, the girl who wore thick pink glasses and sported puffy bangs that were regularly permed. I played no sports, belonged to no clubs, had no real accomplishments. Looking back, truly, it seems all the signs were in place from the beginning: this girl was meant to like celery root. It was only a matter of time.

Celery root, also called celeriac or knob celery, is many things, but looking at it for the first time, only one stands out: this winter vegetable isn’t pretty to look at. In fact, if you were a little like the mean kids I grew up with, you might say something like celery root is the ugliest vegetable there ever was and, you know, nobody wants to play with it.

With all that in mind, or maybe because of all that in mind, I walked towards, not away from, the celery root at my grocery store a few weeks ago, taking two globes in my hands, holding them like brains in one of those scary movies I’d never watch. I didn’t know what made one good or bad, and I didn’t know what I was going to do with the two I tucked into a plastic bag, but when I walked outside, inhaling the cold, crisp air, it was with a spring in my step.

I would be making a soup eventually; that much I knew. But those first vegetables turned out to be rotted and almost rotted, so it wasn’t until just recently that I came home, holding another, very fresh, very ready to be used, with the opportunity. [On picking good celeriac – An old San Francisco Chronicle article gives the following advice for choosing fresh ones: look for roots that are heavy for their shape and not too dry. I can’t vouch for this method personally, as, honestly, all of them looked pretty dry and felt heavy to me, but I think I’ll get better at this. Meanwhile, trusting Whole Foods worked wonders.]

If you’ve ever cut a butternut squash, you have an idea of what you’re in for working with a celery root, although, really, this will be much simpler. Get a very sharp, very heavy chef’s knife and cut off eat end of the dense, brown skin. Turn it on one of the flat ends and cut down along the sides. What you’ll find inside is a solid, white center that smells like celery and the earth and your hands deep in a spring garden.

For this soup, you’ll combine chopped chunks of celery root with chopped Granny Smith apples, onions, chicken broth and butter. These things will cook for a while, softening all the ingredients until limp and ready to be pureed. Then you’ll transfer the mixture to a blender or, preferably, pull out your handy stick blender, and mix everything thoroughly until it’s the texture you like. A little grapeseed oil mixed with chives and salt drizzled on top, and this creamy, comforting soup is every bit as soothing as cream of potato, but different, with the unmistakable flavor of celery, like an old friend, returning, as you always knew he would.

The First Food Blog: That blog I mentioned, years ago, finding and liking and, through it, learning of celeriac? It’s the well-known and highly acclaimed Orangette. Author Molly Wizenberg’s book, A Homemade Life, has just been released, and, the moment it arrived here, I literally sat down and opened it, without taking off my coat or settling in at all. Reading it is like falling in love with the blog all over again. You will see.

Here in Chicago, the weather has gone back to very, very cold, which, as you can imagine, is discouraging at the beginning of March. On the other hand, things are almost over—that’s what I keep saying. And, also, we have hot bowls of soup to cup in our hands, spooning creamy, soothing comfort from a perch on the sofa. Whether it’s cold where you are or not, this soup is what you need. I mean it.

Working in batches, puree soup in blender until smooth, adding more broth by 1/4 cupfuls to thin to desired consistency (or, what I did: use a stick blender!). Return soup to pot. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Puree chives, grapeseed oil and pinch of salt in blender until smooth.

Divide soup among bowls. Drizzle each bowl with chive oil.

Note: This soup can be made 1 day ahead, refrigerated uncovered until cold, then covered and kept refrigerated. The chive oil can be made up to two hours ahead.

A few years ago, when a friend was visiting, I offered to make her chocolate-chip pancakes the morning she’d leave. I am terrible at making pancakes. Of an entire bowl of batter, I think we ended up with two, she and my brother and I standing in the kitchen in our pajamas, wearing glasses and zip-up sweatshirts. The rest of the batch were either burnt and charred or, worse, still goopy inside, wet and uncooked. It’s a good thing there was also cereal around or, frankly, we’d have starved.

I probably don’t have to tell you my problem was timing: Over and over, I’d leave the batter on the skillet too long or, instead, not long enough. I am fairly terrible at timing, and, as the girl who decides her career path after college, I think it’s safe to say this is not just with pancakes.

You probably already know this past Tuesday, Shrove Tuesday or Mardi Gras, was also National Pancake Day. They were even giving away free ones at IHOP to celebrate (How did I miss this?). The origin goes back to England, when people prepared for Lent by clearing out their pantries of all dairy products (butter, eggs, milk) which would be forbidden during the 40 days until Easter.

So just chalk it up to bad timing that I’m posting mine not on National Pancake Day but, instead, six days later later, on the first Monday of March.

Truth is, I’ve been wanting pancakes since I saw a picture of these, piled high and drenched in syrup and butter. Saturday, it was time to try this thing again.

A few initial findings: (1) When you put the batter on the skillet, you really have to leave it there for a few minutes. No nervous peeking beneath to see how it’s coming. (2) If you do things right, small air bubbles with appear in the side of the batter facing you, about three minutes after you put it on there, and that’s how you know when to flip. (3) Because I am just one person, it’s a good idea to cut any pancake recipe in half.

(Of course, cutting things in half in your head, especially while you’re also watching T.V. online, can be problematic. I ended up creating a full batch of the dry ingredients and sectioning off half to use next time, which, maybe, will turn out to be a good thing.)

But here’s what really matters: it worked.

After three minutes on each side on the hot, oiled skillet, the lumpy batter turns smooth and golden brown, with beautifully darkened edges that are just slightly crispy. Buttermilk adds a rich, lightly sour flavor to the dough, complemented by the tartness of the fresh berries, which is especially nice topped with real maple syrup. And the soft texture, creamy and warm as it dissolves on your tongue, at once acidic and also sweet, makes a great start to a morning—any morning, anytime.

Directions:
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Add fresh blueberries and gently stir to combine.

In another bowl, whisk the eggs. Whisk in the buttermilk, then the butter. Add the buttermilk mixture to the dry ingredients and stir just until blended. It’s OK for the batter to look lumpy.

Heat an electric or stove-top griddle or nonstick skillet to medium heat. Add a drizzle of oil to coat the skillet.

Pour the batter onto the griddle, using a 1/4-cup measure and leaving a little space between them. Cook for about 3 minutes on the first side (without touching!) until some bubbles form on top. Flip the pancakes (the side that had been down will now be golden) and cook the other sides until golden. Serve with warm syrup.

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"That's at the root of all giving, don't you think? At the root of all art. You can't hoard the beauty you've drawn into you; you've got to pour it out again for the hungry, however feebly, however stupidly. You've just got to." Elizabeth Goudge

"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." J.R.R. Tolkien

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